Author: BBCo

We moved to the city when my boys were toddlers. I shed tears in sessions, endured a hefty dose of grief. During one particular session, being a forward thinker (worrywart), I heaved gut-wrenching sobs for the loss of freedom to roam the countryside that my three sons, then toddlers, would experience.

We’ve been city dwellers for seven years. My boys aren’t toddlers anymore and, it’s true, they don’t have the freedom to step outside their backdoor to explore green roaming hills or wide open fields. But they do have a neighborhood and they do have bikes. Still, in the city we have rules. So they are free to roam as long as they stay together within pre-determined neighborhood boundaries. And they have to check in every hour…

“Mom!”

“M-o-m!”

I get on my feet fast when I hear two moms in a row!

“Mom, today is TF141!!!”

I relax, “TF141?”

“You know… Trash Force 141!”

It began with a blow up raft, the kind you use in country ponds or on lakes. We live near the beach, but this is certainly not an ocean raft. I suggested it might make a fun pool raft.

“No mom, can we blow it up and use it in the studio?”

“…O-k-a-y, sure, of course.” Why not? Imagination is, I reminded myself, more important than open fields.

The next hour Søren and Liam came home with a wooden sword and the hour after that it was a life-sized Sponge Bob costume.

I thought I had seen it all, but later that day when I began closing down shop— putting Legos and colored pencils and bike helmets in their proper place—I found an old backpack I had never seen before and an empty suitcase! I took a deep breath and prayed that our family was not going to become the neighborhood refuse-sorting center. I would give it a week or so, surely the novelty would wear off.

That night after dinner—the hour when activity shifts to quiet mode—I kept hearing a faint music box playing. I chalked it off to Taylor composing something on Logic. But then Søren came into the room with the head of a toy zebra impaled on a wooden skewer. He began to explain that the object is part of an idea brewing inspired by Leonardo da Vinci.

Turns out the creepy music box melody was Taylor composing. He had rescued the music box that was once tucked inside the stuffed zebra and was in the studio recording it to incorporate into a composition.

One man’s trash is another boy’s treasure! I’m so glad my boys can be boys.

It’s time to launch a brand new school year. I open iPhoto
to flip through images hoping to be inspired by antics past. I click through
until I spy little Taylor with two of his elementary home school buddies, “How
cute.” A few more clicks of the mouse and I pause at an image of the same three
characters in their teens. I crack
up.

So what do Mozart, Batman, and the GEICO Caveman have in
common?

Individuality.

We cultivate genius when we inspire the heart, nourish the
mind, and train the will to actively pursue individuality.

Goals 2000 was beginning to be implemented when my oldest
daughter, Hannah was in Kindergarten. I received a cryptic postcard in the mail
from the school district, a disclosure that the exit exam was on its way. In
ten short years Hannah’s graduating class would be affected. I remember being
fascinated by the specific goals the district had in mind, goals that seemed
vague and far removed from academics that would promote individuality. Being an
inquisitive mom, I tucked the postcard into my purse and paid a visit to Hannah’s
Principal.

I began my show and tell. The Principal had never seen or
heard about the information on the postcard. Flustered, he pulled an enormous
binder from a stack on the shelf behind his desk. With a slam and a great puff
of dust he proclaimed, “…must relate to this.” The sad reality is that the
discouraged Principal confessed,
“Who has time to read?”

The next year I began homeschooling.

I have three secret ambitions:
1. Grow a garden that thrives
2. Learn to play guitar
3. Become fluent in Italian

Sometimes my ambitions frustrate me, especially when I walk
up the driveway, look to my left, and see the small plot of city dirt that
holds the potential to feed my family as I rush to my computer to get cracking
on another lesson plan. I become discouraged when I compare myself to Barbara
Kingsolver (Animal Vegetable Miracle), James Taylor, and Pavarotti (okay, so
Italian as the stepping stone to opera).

I had a roommate in college who was a focused high achiever.
While I had so many interests that I found myself spiraling into a state of
indecisiveness, she had two activities on her free time list: exercise and
cheesy romance novels. What I perceived as a lack of imagination kept her
schedule even keeled. My roommate, who eased her way into a pediatric practice,
was living the “can’t do it all” kind of life that I secretly envied.

But the good news is I think I finally understand. As I press
into the work of cultivating my individuality, I’ve made the conscious choice
that there are some things that I simply cannot accomplish.

Continue reading Individuality

Building with LEGOs is academic. I have witnessed my boys
following complex directions, engaging in problem solving and demonstrating critical
thinking for hours upon end as they engage with LEGOs. When we pour two enormous tubs onto the
wool rug in the living room, I have witnessed my three boys learning to live
together in harmony on LEGO Island.

Being the mother of three imaginative boys, I made a pact
with myself long ago to not be annoyed by LEGO blocks scattered here and there.
But early yesterday morning in the kitchen, as we were racing to start the day,
I went sliding across the kitchen on a Ferrari F-1 driver, severing his
arm and nearly cracking my skull.
The race came to a halt. My
youngest son caught my eye. I took
a deep breath and said between gritted teeth, “That was close.” I took another breath, “Can he be
fixed?” Søren’s face beamed with a
wide smile.

I think what saved me in the kitchen
this morning was an image I had just snapped the day before—a little LEGO world
Søren had tucked near the leg of my desk right next to work stacking up. This
juxtaposition made quite an impact.

Today I was reminded of the value of play: LEGOs are
academic.